Some
in Kandahar Mourn the End of Taliban RuleBy Pamela
Constable, Washington
Post, 15 January 2002

Every day, mourners slip
into the Taliban cemetery at the edge of the city, stooping to caress the
smooth white stones covering the graves or quietly contemplating the headstones
that relate the history of Taliban heros.

One tall slate stone, surrounded
by flags fluttering on bamboo poles and carved in Afghan Pashto script,
honors Yar Mohammad Akhund, a former anti-Soviet fighter and later a Taliban
governor of several Afghan provinces. The tribute recounts the high points
of his life, and death:

"He studied religion since childhood....
He struggled against the Russians for many years.... He was imprisoned
but freed by the order of God.... He was an expert user of Stinger missiles....
When the pure Taliban movement came he began a new struggle against the
enemies of Islam.... He opened 20 religious schools in Herat.... He was
killed in the struggle against the ignorants in the [Islamic] year 1377."

In a brand-new cemetery across the
street, hundreds of people each day crowd to view the neatly dug graves
of 74 Arabs and other foreign fighters who died in the U.S. bombing in
October and November. Some of the visitors are sick people seeking blessings
from the dead, who are believed to have special powers as martyrs for Islam.
Others are angry young men who throw stones at foreigners attempting to
visit the site.

"These boys died here alone, in a
foreign country. They were our Muslim brothers and we weep for them," said
Sher Mohammed, 65, a horse cart driver who was visiting the Arab cemetery
Monday. "It is the duty of every Muslim to see they are buried with respect."

While many Afghans are relieved at
the demise of the radical Islamic Taliban forces that controlled most of
the country for five years, the people of Kandahar have a strikingly different
view. This southern city was the birthplace of the Taliban, which ruled
the city beginning in 1994, and its populace shared its ethnic Pashtun
roots.

Now that the Taliban rulers have
been replaced by an interim government that includes a hodgepodge of unruly
ethnic militias from other parts of Afghanistan, many residents of Kandahar
are openly mourning the end of the previous era, which they say brought
seven years of peace, stability and ethnic respect.

Despite the presence of more than
3,000 U.S. troops here, Kandahar residents from all walks of life said
they now live in fear of armed militia members and gunmen roaming the streets.
They expressed deep mistrust of the new provincial governor, Gul Agha Shirzai,
a controversial figure who held the same post in the early 1990s during
a period of arbitrary violence and lawlessness.

Although some Kandahar residents
supported the Taliban's radical interpretation of Islamic law and practice,
even moderate Muslims here expressed nostalgia for the Taliban's strict
control of crime and violence, and many said they would willingly sacrifice
personal freedom for safety.

"During the Taliban time, you could
walk the streets safely day and night. Now we have to sleep with guns for
pillows because we can be robbed at any time," said Abdul Haddi, 35, a
car dealer. "Now we have the freedom to listen to music, and nobody bothers
us about wearing beards, but music does not put food on the table. We prefer
extremism to instability."

At a nursing school on the grounds
of Mir Weis Hospital, female students and teachers this week expressed
grave concern for their safety in the streets. Saying they feared being
accosted and molested by gunmen, they begged the school's director for
door-to-door bus service so they would not have to walk or wait outdoors.

During the Taliban era, the school
received special permission to teach girls after agreeing to follow strict
Islamic rules, with no men allowed on the premises, no music or parties
and special curtained buses bringing veiled students to class. Now, the
girls said, the atmosphere inside the school is more relaxed, but the conditions
outside are far more frightening.

"We are so confused and worried.
There are gunmen everywhere, and there is no stability," said Khatira,
18, a nursing student. "I hate guns, and I only want to study. I was born
in a time of fighting, and I never saw any stable conditions except with
the Taliban. In the time of extremism, I could study safely. Now I can't."

A number of Kandahar residents said
they wished the U.S. military forces now stationed in the area would do
more to help provide law and order to their communities, rather than focusing
their efforts on hunting down Arab fighters, suspected terrorist leader
Osama bin Laden and former heads of the Taliban.

To a certain extent, Taliban sympathies
here also extend to Arabs who lived here and fought alongside the Taliban
against its armed domestic opponents in northern Afghanistan, and who later
were killed or wounded in the U.S. bombing campaign.

At Mir Weis Hospital, where a half-dozen
injured and armed Arab fighters have been barricaded inside a prison ward
for weeks, even the soldiers guarding the grounds this week said they strongly
disagreed with the government's decision to suspend all food supplies to
the detainees after they refused to surrender.

"It is a shameful violence to stop
their food and kill them slowly. Every Muslim in the world has sorrow for
these men," said Akhtar Mohammed, 40, a hospital guard. "We want a moderate
Islamic government, but not one that will sell the Koran for dollars."
The Arab prisoners, he added, "are dying but they are happy, because they
will go to paradise."

The Taliban militia was made up largely
of ethnic Pashtuns from this region, and many Kandahar families lost their
sons to the fighting. Others are trying to find male relatives who they
fear were killed or imprisoned in the U.S. assault. Hundreds have sought
help from the local office of the International Committee of the Red Cross,
which has access to prisoners detained by the interim government and by
the U.S. military.

Not all these relatives supported
the Taliban, and some bitterly blame the Islamic militia for their loss.
Only a minority of Taliban fighters were volunteers; most were conscripted
and sent into battle.

"What did the Taliban ever give me
except a son who may be dead or in prison?" asked Malika, 35, a weeping
woman whose 19-year-old son was seized in a Kandahar bazaar eight months
ago and sent off to fight. He was reportedly seen in Kunduz province shortly
before Taliban forces were driven from the region in November, but she
has not heard from him and now fears the worst.

In the cemeteries of Kandahar, however,
devotion to the Taliban cause this week was very much alive, with some
mourners vowing that if the new government fails to establish peace and
security, the now-invisible and apparently vanquished Taliban movement
could easily re-emerge to fill the void.

"People are afraid to say the truth
now, but real Muslims are not happy with this new revolution," said Mohammed
Halim, 19, a cleric who was visiting the grave of Mohammed Rabbani, a widely
respected Taliban commander and official who died of cancer last year.

"Not all the Taliban were criminals
and terrorists; they were part of the people, and there are thousands of
them everywhere," he said. "If this government does not bring stability,
they can come again and capture Kandahar within days."